


Making Movies

by doreah



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Locker Room, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doreah/pseuds/doreah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from 4x07 "Ugly". Cameron has a mini-crisis over a slip of the tongue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Movies

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2007.

He should be relieved that she’s thinking of telling him. After all, had she really wanted to hide it, had she really been guilty of the ambiguously-phrased feelings, she wouldn't have told him at all and left it to chance that her thoughtless (and probably wildly misinterpreted) comment would be cut from the final edit. Really who wants to watch a bumbling idiot try to qualify a random comment about their boss, even if it could be construed as a declaration of love? Of course there's no way he could know she was thinking of telling him about something that he didn't even know happened. Still, when she eventually got the nerve to break the news, he should be grateful. He'd better be. He'd better not sulk around like she knows he will.

 She needed to think of a way to squeeze the unfortunate news out without totally pissing him off. See, he should understand her inner turmoil at this because if she really was in love with House, it wouldn't really matter what Robert thought about the whole thing. Right? She wouldn't be so damn terrified of telling him. Telling him could mean getting him upset. Getting him upset could mean... something really bad she didn't want to think about. It really would just be easier to not say anything and maybe talk to the film crew and get them to cut it. But then if she did that, it would make it seem like a big deal and they'd include it for sure. Maybe just leave it to chance. Maybe there won't be time. It'll be cut. Yes, it’s so stupid that’s probably what will happen.

  _Oh God_. But what if it ends up as a bonus feature? Something like, “Inside the Life of Dr. House.” They could cut it from the film, but include it in the bonus features, because really, you need that human interest aspect. To show that people love him, the dear misunderstood grumpy Dr. House with the heart of gold. _Holy fuck_. She should just tell Robert now because he'd be way angrier if he found out that way, a year down the road. Or whatever. Maybe he'll forget about the whole thing in a year from now and not even see the film at all. So it wouldn't even matter if the scene is cut or not…

 

And she could just steal his mail if they send him a copy. She's good at stealing mail.

 

 _Shit, shit,_ _shit_ _._

 

Cameron groaned and paced around the small locker room, slamming her locker shut with a clang that even made her jump back. Letting out a long breath, she tried to rally her wild thoughts. There needed to be a plan. She needed to say it casually as if she had no idea how upset it would make him. It didn't matter if she didn't mean it that way. The words were enough.

And even more importantly, she'd never said those three words to him.

 She couldn't say it now either. Then it would definitely seem false. She wouldn't be able to say for the next few months (not that the thought had honestly crossed her mind all that often). That wasn't allowed. It hadn't been allowed since she arrived on his doorstep, and it wouldn't be allowed for a while. She had made that rule. Not that she really told him about it, but she told herself. And shut him down every time she suspected the conversation was heading that direction.

 Glaring angrily at her reflection in the dimly lit room, she frowned, wondering when she became so sharing, so eager that she would blurt out words of love about her boss to a camera crew in her ER. Taking a gulp of water that barely quenched her dry mouth, she stepped back, continuing to stare at her disobedient self.

 Almost without thought, her fingers found the courtesy phone and dialed a familiar pager number and left a somewhat familiar series of cryptic words. He'd know.

 

She passed the next few minutes pacing back and forth, trying to gather her thoughts. It would have to be casual, almost humorous, as if it was a funny joke and didn't mean anything. Kind of like, “Hey remember that time at that party when I ran head-first into a plate glass door and got a bloody nose?” This would have to be that same kind of thing. Light. Casual. Inconsequential. Something to laugh off. And she could probably do just that if she was going to be talking to anyone other than him. Even if she said it in full-out laughter, he wouldn't smile. She knew him. And if she didn't calm down right now, it would only get worse. Stepping out into the bustling hallway, she waited, and didn't realize she was tapping her fingernails against the wall as she tried to lean casually against the painted concrete.

 She let out a sigh of relief when she saw him walking in her direction and not surrounded by video equipment. He was alone. Exactly the way she needed him. And exactly the way that scared her the most.

 “Hey,” he said, coming up to her side. “What's up?”

 “Nothing.” If only she hadn't sounded so immediately defensive.

 He pulled off his scrub hat and bunched it between his fists, trying to figure out what was wrong this time. “Nothing?”

 She forced out a smile. “Nope. I just wanted to see if you'd come. And what a surprise, you came quickly.” Good, a joke. At his expense, but still. She grinned wider.

 A strange smirk stretched across his lips before fading again. “Hey, be nice.” There was that puppy dog face, as if she really hurt his feelings. Granted, he really didn't like when she joked about that kind of thing, but he was used to it by now. Surely. He had to me. But he still stood a good arm's length from her almost like he was wary of her presence. She curled one finger towards her chest, beckoning him closer. He obeyed, like always, until he thought he was close enough. She kept it up and when he stopped, she grabbed hold of his scrub top and pulled him towards her.

 Cameron never particularly had any hang ups about public affection, or more appropriately exhibitionism. And despite the need for professionalism in the workplace, she was fairly certain that no one in the hallway was really all that concerned about their display, which in all fairness was roughly equivalent to that annoying couple who always made out in front of your locker in high school. After a while, you stop caring and just push them aside like a housefly or cobweb. She was hoping that's how her colleagues viewed this kind of thing.

 If not, well, that would be another awkward conversation. Probably with Cuddy. Again.

But she hadn't kissed him yet. She had that much sense. Maybe passers-by would think they're just sharing a juicy secret. Or a patient dilemma. Whatever. She backed up quickly to the door of the locker room and pulled him inside after her.

 “Allison.” He said her name like that when he wasn't keen on whatever she was planning. Mostly he said it precisely that way when she wanted to have sex in a place he didn't consider discreet enough. With a smirk and a sneaky glint in her eye, she twisted the lock on the back of the door.

 “Happy?” It was pretty much rhetorical.

 He didn't move however. He merely waited for her to come closer, until she was within grabbing distance. Then he pounced, tugging insistently at her shirt. Closer. She could smell the faint scent of disinfectant on his arms, and the sterile, bland smell of new scrubs. He certainly didn't taste either of those ways. He tasted like chocolate or coffee. Smooth. Dark. Her hands quickly went up to grasp his jawline, feeling the slight prickle of his five o'clock shadow. She pushed harder against his lips, pressing harder against his body until she felt the rush of chill as he slid the lab coat from her shoulders. Her hands snaked over the familiar definition of oblique muscles around his waist, and up his chest, around his lower back. He gasped against her mouth as she dug her nails in a little too deeply.

 There was a satisfaction as he drew a sharp breath as his naked back hit the cold, metal lockers. He was always the first to lose his clothes, and it was only a momentary distraction before he practically yanked her shirt from her body. They could have waited. They had two apartments to do this kind of thing in. It wasn't as if the opportunity wouldn't arise in a few hours.

 But being with him calmed her grizzled nerves. And excited them in a different way, in a way that she didn't have to think about why they needed to be calmed. She had never wanted to be one of those girls: the kind that used sex for selfish comfort, for the type of comfort that was only desirable because it distracted her from the real problems and allowed her the momentary avoidance necessary to temper the anxiety. Yet she always found herself back in the same position time and time again, especially with him. And she definitely didn't want to consider the idea of escape mechanisms. It wasn't about that. It wasn't.

 It was her turn to gasp as he lifted her up, practically pushing her onto the hopefully stable sink ledge and removed her panties in possibly one of the smoothest moves she'd ever witnessed. She deliberately ran her palm along the front of his scrubs, noting for the thousandth time how thin fabric was. His hips bucked involuntarily against her warm hand and he groaned into her neck, his hands clenched her waist tighter. She reached for the tie and pulled, a little harder than necessary and he fell into her as his pants crumpled to the floor, along with his boxer-briefs.

 He was full of smooth moves and she was sure it was because practice made perfect. With little preamble, he stroked into her, a little too desperately but not harshly. She tried to suppress a moan but failed. He had teased her, more than once, about being a screamer. She insisted that it was involuntary and, really, it only increased the sensation. She could care less if people heard because she was never ashamed of him or sex. There was a quiet chuckle from him at the sound (he was always proud of himself) but it was quickly changed into something else as she clenched her pubococcygeus muscles. There was that groan again.

  _In. Out. In. Out_. It would seem rather rudimentary -- banal even -- if it didn't feel so damn good. And it still didn't matter that anyone walking within a few inches of the locker room door would know exactly what was happening. There was a quiet growl from deep in her throat and she squirmed slightly, looking for a different angle.

 “Rob,” she almost whined. Almost but not quite. “Please.”

 He didn't even say anything in response. He didn't need to ask what she was looking for because she had always let him know in the past. He automatically responded with the appropriate action: a carefully positioned thumb on a certain, ridiculously-sensitive nerve bundle. It would seem somewhat awkward if either had bothered to think about how awkward it was. But he was so fucking close, and she was, well, she would be that close in just a few seconds. She could feel the now almost painful hardening of her clit as he continued to move in her, on her. His mouth was leaving light trails of saliva along her neck, resulting only in goosebumps that coupled with the cold sink ledge to form the strangest of contrasts with her warm and over-excited body.

 With something resembling a restrained grunt, he came. He was always shy and nothing she said could really convince him to be more vocal. But then, most people weren't like her. They didn't have sex all over hospitals and not care if coworkers overheard or if their boss walked in on it. In her mind, she was a doctor first, they all were. Sex was merely a function of life. A necessity. It was easily to be that detached if she thought about it purely in an academic, scientific sort of way. That's also why she didn't cuddle. She wasn't a cuddler. (Well, she had been once.) With him, it had started out as just sex. No cuddling. That meant it was something else. So, it remained just sex for as long as he kept his mouth shut and his hands to himself. Then he broke the rules.

 Then she broke her own rules. Then she woke up alone a few months ago and realized that she did enjoy it and missed him there, a hand or arm around her. He was probably as eager to oblige her that as sex.

 With a look of guilt, he attempted to make her come before he went soft. It didn't take much when he focused solely on her. And she didn't particularly care that she almost smashed her head on the wall behind her as her orgasm hit. A few minutes of heavy breathing, heart rate slowing and skin cooling and she was back on her own feet pulling clothes back on and fixing her hair in the mirror. After all, there were cameras out there.

 He looked a little bit dazed still as he pulled on his long-sleeved t-shirt. Taking a seat on the metal bench, he looked up at her, curiously.

 She laughed slightly, noticing the spiky lumps of hair on his head. She slipped on her lab coat before walking the few paces to stand in front of him.

 “You can be so adorable sometimes.” It was an honest statement. Not one that someone usually says after mind-blowing sex, but honest nonetheless. She ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing. She did love his hair. No matter how much House made fun of it, she knew everyone was jealous. They were slow movements. Calming. And he closed his eyes for the few minutes that she allowed herself. These moments that reflected normality, and proved that she wasn't as damaged as House (in particular) thought she was, were her small triumph. This is where she and House differed: he liked to prove things right, she liked to prove them wrong. Chase just liked her.

 This was pretty normal, right? Well, it looked that way. Sort of felt that way too. Something like a functional, healthy adult relationship. Almost. Well, close enough to almost.

 Now his hair was under control and back to looking like he had hat-head. He yanked the scrub top back over his shirt. Of course, lying on the dirty floor of the locker room compromised its sterility, but he wasn't scheduled for any more surgery that day anyway. Her hands self-consciously began to flatten her own tousled hair and run a finger under an eye to swipe away any possibly smeared mascara. 

 

They had spent the last 3 minutes in silence.

Cameron broke it suddenly as she straightened the collar of her shirt under her lab coat.

 “I said I love House.” It came out as sort of a mumble, an off-hand remark. The last half-hour had really calmed her nerves and brought up her courage. Sex was good for that.

 “What?”

 “To the cameras.” Now she met his eyes. They were confused, cold. Hurt? Shit.

 “Why?”

 “It just slipped out, I guess,” she said carefully studying every flicker in his eyes. She noticed how many times his gaze darted around the room as if a logical answer could be found on of the green ceramic-tiled walls.

 When he finally looked at her again she could see what it did to him and she felt the immediate sting of regret.

 “I didn't mean it like that. Like the way you think--”

 “How did you mean it? What other ways do you love the boss you were 'formerly' in love with?”

 “That's not fair. We talked about this.” She paused in thought. “ _A lot_.”

 “Um, I'm not sure we talked about _this_ specifically.”

 “It just sounds that way. You know I loved being on that team. I know _you_ loved being on that team. We both did. And how you loved House then, I love him still.” This wasn't helping.

 “Still.” It wasn't a question. Just an affirmation. He said it with a poisonous tone. The anger was seeping out, overwhelming whatever hurt and confusion he felt. Then he softened momentarily. “I think the reason I loved being on that team had less to do with House and more to do with the...” A careful pause. “...team.”

 He stared directly at her, hoping that if his meaning wasn't clear enough, he could somehow bore it into her with his eyes. She knew exactly what he meant and the unsaid declaration took her aback just a little more than she anticipated. Knowing he would eventually say that and then actually hearing it were two completely different things. She was too terrified to formulate a response. He scared her far too much sometimes. He was real.

 He allowed her a minute to take it in before standing, his mouth set in a strong frown and his glare growing colder.

 “Sit, please.” She knew she visibly cringed at the sound of how desperate her voice sounded at that request. He refused for a second until her hands grasped his biceps, urging him down again. “I need your help to fix this.”

 “I can't do anything.” He crossed his arms across his chest like a defiant child.

 She huffed at his attitude. She had just taken a leap and he was holding her honesty against her. “Okay, then sit there and mope.” He'd get over it. She faced the mirror and looked solemn. She could see Chase behind her, pouting, but with just the slightest hint of a smirk. Petulant humorousness.

 It had to be perfect storytelling with no defensive, secretive undertones. Casual. Silly. Like walking into a plate glass door at a party. As if it meant absolutely nothing and that her current boyfriend wasn't incredibly ticked off at her slip of the tongue because if said current boyfriend was pissed, then it would mean that he too thought she meant it that way. Which she didn't. At all. Even though probably no one in the entire world would believe that. And if not for her own newly reincarnated reputation as a lovesick Dr. House groupie, she needed to do it for the other man. The one that never gave up on chasing her. The one that cuddled with her on cold mornings regardless of her initial protests because he knew her better than she did.

And especially for the one that when he said he loved someone, he really meant it. _That_ way.

 

She felt a rising glow. The kind of feeling that comes about when you realize something almost monumental. He was still sitting there. He would get over it because there was something more important to him than her mistakes. She smiled at her reflection and noticed how it caught his eye. It wasn't talking about loving House that made her glow. It was something about that man in her reflection, watching her clumsy and feeble attempts to rectify her embarrassing situation. And because of all this sudden, unnecessary drama, there was the realization that she did feel that way about someone too. And he wasn't her former boss. She took a deep breath and stared at her reflection.

 

“I want to qualify something I said earlier...”


End file.
